


Orange Is My Favorite Color

by Zoe_Dameron



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Blood, Choking, Gingerpilot, Heroism, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Life Debt, M/M, Protective Poe Dameron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-19 11:44:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14873148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoe_Dameron/pseuds/Zoe_Dameron
Summary: Pre-TFA, Armitage Hux decides to stop by Coruscant for a short holiday. A mysterious stranger helps him out of a dangerous situation.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Missed Gingerpilot week by... a significant amount of time. Whoops!

_Well_ , General Hux thought to himself, nose gushing blood down the front of his finest plainclothes shirt, back pressed up against the grimy brick wall of the dark alley he’d been dragged down, _this could have gone better_.

And to think he had actually been looking forward to a short respite planet-side. Under the Supreme Leader’s guidance, the First Order was on the verge of making themselves known on a galactic scale. It was probably the last time he’d be able to set foot on solid ground as a person, someone normal and regular and not the least bit significant if he didn’t give his name out. On a more personal level, though he’d never admit it, he really, truly needed time away from the damned fool Jedi-reject the Supreme Leader had paired him with, the cretin. Always smashing things like a petulant child. No order at all.

In hindsight, Coruscant was a mistake. He would likely have been better suited somewhere more his speed. Crait, perhaps. They did throw such marvelous parties on Crait.

“There now!” rumbled his most massive assailant, the one Hux had mentally nicknamed as ‘the Large One’. “Not so posh anymore, eh fellas?”

The two goons holding Hux up by his arms laughed, because of course they did. A predictable dynamic.

“Maybe next time he’ll be a bit nicer when people are talkin’ to him,” Large One continued. “He’ll remember that he ain’t no better than anyone else. Ain’t that right, boy?” Large One’s point was punctuated with a firm jab in the chest that hurt more than expected; whichever lowly species this brute belonged to, they were a lot stronger than Hux had thought. Lasat, most likely. All of his dealings with Lasat had been equally as unpleasant and equally as foul-smelling.

Just more scum underneath his boot.

The boot he was wearing, not the one just a way’s down the alley. Not the one they had somehow _punched_ him out of.

He licked his split lip as he stared down Large One, eyes burning with a growing intensity that usually worked in situations like this. It took him a moment to remember that these beasts had no idea _who_ he was or _what_ he was capable of, which meant either apologizing for the perceived slight of ignoring them earlier, or improvising.

Hux had never been so good at apologies.

With some unholy combination of fury and pure stubbornness he took a deep breath, drew back, and spit.

He watched as the thick red glob sailed forward, almost in slow motion, and landed square in Large One’s eye. Commandant Hux would have been so proud.

The other two holding him up were stunned to silence, exchanging panicked looks between them while they waited for direction from Large One on what to do next.

The Large One, to his benefit, held it together far longer than Hux would’ve anticipated. Long enough for the mix of saliva and blood to drip down Large One’s cheek. Long enough to more than meet the intensity of Hux’s glare. Long enough to catch Hux off-guard when his thick fingers wrapped around Hux’s neck and _squeezed_.

At some point, the other two goons had backed off, freeing his arms from their grip so Hux could make a grand show of fighting back, hands scrabbling and scratching and punching at the enormous creature that was slowly choking the life from him.

 _Such a pity_ , Hux thought to himself as he sputtered for breath, blackness pouring in from all angles, the darkness at the end of the tunnel he always knew would be there to greet him. _Such a pity to never see the result of my life’s work. To die in a place like this._

The brute squeezed harder, likely impatient with the effort it was taking to make Hux die. Hux felt something in his neck _crunch_ , the sound like feet on fresh snowfall, and he prepared himself for the end.

“Hey!” shouted a faint voice from somewhere in the distance, though it sounded an awful lot like everything else did; muffled nonsense through the roar of his own heartbeat in his ears.

It was enough to distract the Large One from the murder he was committing, and, at the moment, that was all that mattered. The hand didn’t fall away but it did loosen slightly, sufficient for Hux to draw small, desperate breaths while Large One turned to face whoever had called out.

As his vision bluntly and painfully returned, Hux caught a rough glimpse of the stranger. He looked male, human, with darker hair that was curlier than most Hux had seen in the area. A moderate length, but bordering on too much. If this man had been one of his direct reports there would inevitably be a conversation about code and what is proper. In between angry, frantic gasps for air Hux approximated the man as having an Outer Rim heritage. Even at death’s door he couldn’t help but try to categorize, label, and sort.

“What’s, uh… what’s going on here guys?” the stranger asked, taking a cautious but confident step forward, hands open in surrender.

“Leave,” Large One responded through gritted yellow teeth, while his two goons cracked their knuckles menacingly on either side. If he had been able to manage it, Hux would’ve rolled his eyes.

The stranger laughed warmly. It sounded natural, as easy as breathing. “See, I’d like to, but you happen to have my very annoying future brother-in-law on the receiving end of what looks like a pretty decent beating. I’d let you keep going but I kind of need him to stay in good graces with that side of the family. I invite the guy out, he ends up dead, it looks bad. You understand, right?”

“You know this man?” Large One asked, unimpressed and still extremely angry.

Hux locked eyes with the stranger and caught a glimpse of something close to worry on the man’s face, behind whatever deception he was trying to pull.

 _Damned fool is going to get himself killed_ , he thought to himself matter-of-factly, as if he wasn’t the one who was currently getting himself killed.

“I do, yeah. What’d he do to piss you off? How can I make it right?”

To Hux’s left, the purple goon growled. “He thought he was better than everyone else!”

“Yeah, real fancy! With a’ attitude!” offered the blue-ish one to Hux’s right.

“Ignored us like he was a king or somethin’!” replied Large One, his grip loosening again. “And then he pfasskin’ _spit_ on me! Got his blood in my good eye.”

The stranger nodded like he’d heard it all before, just one more in a long line of screw ups. The petty part of Hux resented the implication of being associated with whoever this heroic idiot was.

“I get it,” the stranger continued, “don’t think I haven’t wanted to strangle the life out of the guy myself. But like I said, it’ll be _my_ neck if I come home without him. What’ll even the score here, fellas? I have a tab open at The Inabia next door. How about you gentleman help yourselves on account of the trouble he caused you. On me.”

Hux was in the middle of working up an absolutely _scathing_ mental admonishment of the stranger’s terrible plan when he felt Large One’s hand fall away, and he tumbled to the ground in an undignified coughing fit.

With Hux largely forgotten behind them, Large One and his goons approached the stranger, towering an easy head and shoulders above him.

“You pullin’ our leg?”

“I would never,” the stranger responded, feigning playful offense. “As much as you can drink. Tab’s under ‘Terex’.”

There was a moment of silence when Hux knew – he _knew_ – that the stranger’s plan hadn’t worked, that the goons, as dense and poodoo-headed as they were, would never fall for something so obviously a ruse.

But then the goons began congratulating each other on their fortune, clapping the stranger on the back like a long-lost friend. The Large One turned to where Hux was trying to sit up against the wall and choke down air. “See! Respect. You could learn a thing ‘r two from this guy.”

Through his struggle for breath he watched all three of them head down the alley and then disappear towards the promise of free alcohol. He was so confused and absolutely seething with incredulity at the audacity of such a plan paying off that he hadn’t noticed the stranger crouching down in front of him, deep brown eyes full of concern.

“Buddy, can you – hey, can you hear me?” the stranger asked, loud enough to be heard above a head injury but soft enough to not echo down the alley for others to hear.

Hux wanted to bark at this man, give him the verbal dressing-down of his life for taking such a foolish risk, but… Hux also knew that, if this man hadn’t shown up, that he would be staring down the cold blackness of whatever kind of beyond existed for the people who had done the things he had done. He wanted to live. _Stars_ , he wanted to live.

So, when the stranger asked him if he could hear him, Hux nodded. When the stranger reached out his hand, Hux allowed himself to be helped up. Nothing wrong with a little gratitude when it was deserved, and this stranger deserved it.

“Hey,” the man continued, wrapping Hux’s arm around his shoulder as they hobbled their way to the street and ‘round the opposite direction Hux’s attackers had taken. “You look like you’re in pretty bad shape so I’m going to help you back to my ship to get you patched up, okay? No funny business, we just need to get out of here right now before those three big guys realize my name isn’t ‘Terex’ and that I don’t have a tab open at the fanciest and most expensive bar in the city.”

Externally, Hux managed something close to a nod of confirmation that looked more like a sad wiggle, layered beneath an embarrassing effort to get his lungs and nearly-crushed throat to work together for the common good.

Internally, he couldn’t help but laugh.

He allowed himself to be basically carried to the stranger’s ship, as pathetic and weak as it made him feel, though the parts of him that nearly died the most – his body, his mind, everything except his pride – were appreciative.

The stranger set him down on a crate near the landing gear of a model of ship Hux was too worn thin to properly identify, steadying the man until he was sure he wouldn’t fall flat onto his face, before running into the body of the craft for medical supplies.

With his dress shirt already ruined, Hux pulled a dirtied sleeve over his hand and wiped at the last smears of still-wet blood under his nose.

“Whoa there! I’ve got it, don’t worry!” came the voice of the stranger, suddenly much closer than Hux had calculated. He had a medkit and a couple rags in one hand and a clean-looking blue shirt and pair of boots in the other. “Don’t – just – let me help, okay? I’ve got it.” His voice was soft and rough all at once, appealing to a small, neglected part of Hux that he hadn’t felt in years.

The man pulled another pair of crates over to where Hux was seated, taking a seat of his own on one and propping open the woefully under-supplied medkit on the other.

“So,” the stranger began, his tone teasing but with hints of genuine concern. “You got on the wrong side of some Lasats.”

 _I knew it_ , Hux thought proudly to himself.

“Or maybe _they_ got on the wrong side of _you_ and only had you beat based on volume of muscle and overwhelming group numbers, who’s to know.” The man pulled out a bottle of clear liquid and grabbed the rag, dousing it in whatever harshly alcoholic mixture the bottle contained. “However it may have happened, and it’s certainly none of my business, you’re alive now and you’re here and you’re breathing, right? Right. So, where does it hurt?”

Kriff, this imbecile was charming. A little short, but hunched over on crates as they were, they nearly appeared equals.

Hux gestured to his throat and the stranger tsked in sympathy. No doubt the Lasat brute had caused his neck to bruise up by now, and Hux was sure he looked a dreadful mess. His nose had stopped bleeding but left hand was scuffed bloody from a hook punch that had flown past the face of one of his attackers and straight into a brick wall. He didn’t know if the hand was broken or just sore, but it was worth addressing if care was being offered. He weakly lifted his hand to his chest, and the stranger reached out for it.

“May I?” he asked, and Hux obliged, watching the man’s eyes in fascination as he gently dabbed the cut skin around Hux’s knuckles. “Got a name?” he added conversationally, like they were seated next to each other on a transport ship and needed small talk to pass the time.

There was no way Hux was going to divulge his real name, no kriffing way – Commandant Brendol Hux had done glorious things for the Empire but his name was notorious throughout the galaxy, and with his current state of barely being able to breathe, Hux wasn’t willing to take the risk that this man may not be on the “correct” side of the war.

“ _Sloane_ ” he croaked out, regretting it almost instantly as he plunged into another coughing fit. The man lay a kind but steadying hand on Hux’s shoulder as he fought through it.  

Once he had finished disinfecting the cuts and bandaging them up, the stranger grabbed a fresh rag and handed it to Hux for his nose, then reached back into the medkit and pulled out a bottle of water and a small pink pill, the contents of which were shimmering and swirling underneath the coating.

“It’s bacta. For internal injuries. For your throat.”

Normally, Hux would find this whole situation to be nothing more than a very poorly planned ruse to get him incapacitated or kidnapped or worse, and he’d be damned if he was going to just take a mysterious _living_ pill from a total stranger. But something about the man’s eyes and the naked sincerity within them gave Hux pause. This stranger was foolish, there was no doubt in Hux’s mind about that, but maybe he was the kind of fool who also did things because he believed they were “good” or “morally correct” or some such other nonsense.

Against his better judgment, Hux took both the pill and the bottle of water that had been offered.

Deliberate swallowing _hurt_ , more than the injury itself and certainly more than the tiny capsule warranted, each rounded side like a vibroblade covered in thousands of tinier vibroblades. Miraculously, he worked it down, mostly out of sheer spite than anything else. He looked up at the stranger and nodded, a gesture he hoped was close to “and now it’s your turn to give me your name”.

“…Andor,” the man replied, looking away. A lie. An obvious one.

Hux nodded again, pretending to believe him for the same reasons this “Andor” pretended to believe his name was “Sloane”. They were two strangers who happened into each other’s lives and soon none of this would matter anyway.

Still… he was curious about this man. This person who had stuck his neck out to stop Hux from having his own crushed. Hux’s father used to insist that the galaxy, even in times of peace, was a fundamentally cruel place. If you were hurt or aggrieved, you only had yourself to blame and yourself to fix it. Never rely on anyone’s help. Never expect anything and you will never be disappointed.

Risking another agonizing coughing fit, he had to know. “Why?” was all he could manage.

“Why what?” the stranger responded, appearing genuinely confused.

Not wanting to undo any healing to his throat already underway, Hux gestured at himself and then at the medkit, hoping his reckless but dashing rescuer would understand.

“Why did I… help you?”

Hux nodded, trying to avoid eye contact.

The stranger didn’t miss a beat. “Why did I help you? Why _wouldn’t_ I help you? What kind of person would come across a situation like that and not try to help? It’s the right thing to do.” The man got to his feet and began putting away the used medkit supplies, hesitating for a second before continuing.

“Or maybe orange is my favorite color,” he added with a wink and something disturbingly close to a smirk, his gaze settling briefly on Hux's distinct hair.

Hux didn’t know if he was blushing but he wasn’t about to allow this man to see him as vulnerable so he brought the rag up to his nose again, hoping it covered enough of his face to still seem intimidating.

“You need a ride out of here? I’m heading towards the Core, but if you’re on the way I could –“

Hux cut him off with a dismissive wave of the hand, pulling himself up and finding his balance with an arm against the side of the craft. He mimed something close to “ship – communicator – friends” as he finished dabbing away the remnants of his bloody nose.

“You’re sure you’re gonna be okay, buddy?” the stranger offered, full of that unwarranted concern from earlier, and Hux paused only briefly before nodding again.

“Alright, well, I’m not going to force you to go to the med center here but when you get back to wherever you’re from, or even on route there, if possible, I suggest you follow up. Hopefully your planet or your people have better bacta and supplies than you caught me with. Oh, and I brought down these,” he continued, setting the new-ish brown boots and clean dark blue shirt down on the crate where he had been sitting. “We look around the same size, at least when it comes to feet and torsos. Figured you’d need ‘em. You take care of yourself, okay?”

The stranger offered his hand and Hux, without thinking, took it. The two exchanged pleasant nods, then separated.

Hux retrieved the clothes that had been offered – they were surprisingly high-quality, somehow – and backed away towards the general direction of the area he had designated to be picked up at. He watched only briefly as the stranger began packing his ship back up, turning away before he allowed himself… whatever was going on in his head about the man.

It was a risk coming down to Coruscant, and it was a risk to slight three overly aggressive Lasat in a place he was unfamiliar with. It was a risk for that man to help him and a risk for Hux to trust him at all.

He looked down at his bandaged hand as he walked, expertly and tenderly wrapped with what appeared to be the last of that man’s medical supplies. It was confusing to Hux, to say the least, though he attributed most of it to the myriad of head injuries he had incurred during this disaster of a trip.

The man was rash, overly confident, and would surely get himself killed trying to pull that kind of stunt again, of that Hux was assured. He was also assured that if he ever had the opportunity to return the favor between then and now, that he would in a heartbeat.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been nearly two standard months since the incident on Coruscant, and General Hux’s ability to clear his throat without devolving into an embarrassing and undignified coughing fit had finally returned to him. His visible injuries had only taken a few weeks to completely disappear, save for a small cut behind his ear that he assumed was the result of the Large One’s talons during the attempted murder. Somehow the bacta had missed it and the window for removing the scar had now closed.

Keeping his mind off that incident had been easy with how busy he’d found himself during the final stages of Starkiller’s development; _nothing keeps the mind occupied like hard work_ , his father used to say. Still, his thoughts did occasionally wander back to the man who had saved his life. Hux had suffered abuses plenty during his years, and the memories of them tended to run together. The number of people who had helped him out of the goodness of their hearts he could count on one hand.

So yes, he kept the man’s shirt. The boots were not standard issue and he saw no sense in having something around he couldn’t use. The shirt, well… he _slept_ in the shirt.

He was just pulling it over his head as he was getting dressed and prepared for his day when the door to his quarters buzzed. Another early morning in the ongoing war.

“One minute!” he shouted at the other side, hurrying to button up his pressed black uniform. A quick glance in the mirror told him his hair needed work, and, after the liberal application of hair gel, a follow-up glance confirmed his proper appearance. He took a deep breath and buzzed the person in.

“Lieutenant Mitaka, report.”

“General Hux, we have word that Lord Ren is returning from Jakku. He said there is a prisoner, a – Resistance pilot, I believe? – on board with valuable information about the location of the map to Luke Skywalker. Shall I summon Lord Ren to extract the information?”

“Of course not!” Hux growled down at him. “Prepare a detention cell and send in an IT-000 unit until you can contact our best interrogators. I’ll not have Ren mucking our operation up with his mystical nonsense when some liberally-applied pain will do just as well.”

The lieutenant bowed in affirmative. “Thank you, sir.”

What Hux refused to mention, as it was honestly no one else’s business, was that he’d be _damned_ if he was going to let that overly sensitive child sweep in and steal this pivotal victory from him. Retrieving this critical information out from under the noses of the Resistance would surely put him ahead of Ren in Snoke’s eyes. It could finally be the advantage he’d needed to prove that he _deserved_ to be successor to the Supreme Leader.

“Lieutenant,” he added, “send in Captain Vuatzen and his squad. He’s found fast success with other Resistance subjects in the past. And have a droid bring me my tea.”

Smiling smugly to himself, General Hux strolled to the modest viewport in his quarters, Jakku a small and barely significant object below him. He enjoyed the view from above and the confidence that came with it. He’d have that map and with it, Luke Skywalker and the inevitable defeat of the entire Resistance. The thought was _intoxicating_.

Ten standard hours later, he was beginning to feel much soberer. The Resistance pilot had yet to reveal anything remotely close to the map’s location, giving only his name and designation. Whoever this ‘Poe Dameron’ was, he was either going to die slowly or live to regret testing Hux on such an important matter.

He kept it together on the bridge, but back in the solitude of his quarters, Hux paced. How _dare_ this rebel pest defy him. The extraction of this information should have been simple, quick, and painless for everyone except the prisoner. Those in the Resistance stupid enough to get themselves captured usually crumbled within the hour; who did this fool think he was? All he had to do was divulge the information and his suffering would be over! They’d kill him of course, but surely that’s better than countless hours subjected to the most advanced and ruthless tortures in the galaxy.

Slamming his hand down on his communicator he called in his lieutenant, who arrived looking nervous and even more exhausted than Hux himself.

“Report,” he snarled, making no attempt to hide his frustration.

“Sir, the Resistance pilot seems…” Mitaka began, glancing down at his datapad, “exceptionally trained in withstanding even our more advanced interrogation tactics. In addition to Captain Vuatzen’s efforts, the IT-000 reported the use of methods 2265, 6304, 3333, and K8-A4. Honestly, after K8-A4 I’m surprised he’s even alive at this poi –“

“Is he intact? Does he still have all his limbs?”

Lieutenant Mitaka tapped at his datapad, desperately searching for an answer. “Yes, sir, all of those methods were either neuroshock or toxin-based, and I –“

“Break his bones, then, dammit! Remove his fingers one by one!. Tear him apart if you have to, just _get me that map_!”

“Sir, who shall I have come in to perform this… surgery?”

In a huff, Hux grabbed for the datapad, yanking it out of Mitaka’s hands. “Oh for pfassk’s sake, give it here. I’ll do it.” The prisoner’s profile was still front and center, holo-portrait all in blue next to his vital statistics and a summary of interrogation techniques that had already been applied.

He felt like he’d been vented straight into the unforgiving vacuum of space at the sight of the prisoner, face bloodied and swollen but underneath all of the pain that had been inflicted upon him, unmistakably the man from Coruscant.

 _Fuck_ , he thought to himself. _Fucking fuck_.

Of course it’d be him, that idiotic rogue who had foolishly meddled in business when he should have left the entire situation alone. Of course the handsome hero worked for the Resistance; that cause employed only the naively bleeding-hearted. And of course the man who had rescued Hux from certain death is the very same man Hux had ordered torture on for the better part of a day.

“Dismissed,” he muttered to Lieutenant Mitaka, barely an afterthought. His eyes remained fixed on the holo-portrait on the datapad, internally wincing at every bruise, every cut. At the busted lip and the freshly-bleeding gash near the hair line. The man’s eyes, once alive and full of confidence and kindness, now appeared tired and defeated and so utterly broken, even underneath all the outward stubbornness. Hux knew exactly what the man Poe Dameron had suffered through, and the knowing almost made it worse.

He sighed deeply, setting the datapad on his bed as he unbuttoned the collar of his sharp, pressed uniform jacket. Why did it have to be _him_?

Curse the galaxy and its infinite smallness.

Taking a seat on the bed next to the datapad, he looked down at it and weighed his options.

On one hand, to hell with Poe Dameron. From their brief time together, Hux knew that the man would probably get himself killed doing something stupid and heroic. It was inevitable. All roads led here. Additionally, the First Order needed that map to Luke Skywalker. With the final Jedi out of the picture, the Supreme Leader would become unstoppable. Hux had never been closer to getting everything he’d ever wanted.

On the other hand, he knew for an absolute fact that he wouldn’t be alive and even here to agonize over this decision if not for Poe Dameron. Even if neither of them had known it at the time. And that had to stand for something. The First Order was nothing, if not honorable.

“You’re going to regret this, Armitage,” he whispered to himself as he began rebuttoning up his suit.

With a trembling hand, he once more commed for his lieutenant.

“Send in Ren. To finish it.”

On the other side of the line he could hear Lt. Mitaka’s confused hesitation. “…Sir?”

“I know. We have run out of time to acquire the information without Lord Ren’s assistance. That’s all. And let him know I will meet him at the cell once he’s completed the extraction.”

They could spare the time, spare the effort, and likely end up with the map’s location if they just kept at it. Everyone had their limit. This particular one had saved him, though, and Hux felt it was only appropriate to return the courtesy. Ren would sweep in and take the information from Poe Dameron by force, but then it would be _done_ and he wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.

With a deep breath he straightened himself out and headed to the detention cell block.

By the time he arrived at Poe Dameron’s designated cell, he didn’t even need to see if Ren had gotten there yet; he could hear Dameron’s screams loud and clear as they echoed down the long, cold hallways. Desperate, gut-wrenching sounds, like the man’s very soul was on fire. Even passing stormtroopers would turn their heads towards the door at the horrific noises coming from the other side of it.

Hux stood at parade rest with his back straight and his hands clenched into fists behind his back while he waited for it to end.

Nearly an eternity later, the door finally opened and Ren strode confidently out of the cell.

“It’s in a droid. A BB unit,” Ren offered. Clearly satisfied with himself.

At least it was over. They were even now. Neither would have to hurt any longer.

“Well then. If it’s on Jakku we’ll soon have it,” Hux responded, feigning indifference. He didn’t look in to the cell. He didn’t want to know.

Hours later, as the alarms blared and the bridge erupted into chaos due to Poe Dameron’s escape, Hux smiled to himself.

 _I know we’ll meet again someday_ , he thought to himself. _You damned heroic fool._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These movies are basically Kylo Ren having an emotional meltdown and fucking something up. I figured it was Armitage Hux's turn to care about something in a way that completely torpedoes the success of the First Order.
> 
> Also, sorry this second chapter took so long! I basically hated the first draft and completely rewrote it. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for your support! <3


End file.
